Mors Certa, Hora Incerta
by mlocatis
Summary: Alternate end to DH: Snape survives and continues to play his double role until the very end. When all is said and done, where will the spy stand? And will reconciliation with Harry be possible? AU but mostly canon-compliant. Direct quotes are bolded.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: AU set at the end of DH, with Snape surviving due to Harry's intervention just before Nagini kills him. This will be a shorter story encompassing the end of the series and possibly an alternate epilogue. Bolded sections are direct quotes from the lovely J. K. Rowling's** ** _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_** **. I do not own her characters or setting. Reviews are always appreciated! If you have specific questions or critiques, PM is a better way to get a response from me :)** **If you like what you see (or, like me, are obsessed with Snape), feel free to check out my other fics, including a Snape-adopts-young-Harry fic! Cheers!**

 **MORS CERTA, HORA INCERTA**

 **Part One**

" _Kill_." Voldemort's command, spoken in Parseltongue, seemed to ripple through the air, a spell in and of itself.

And all Harry could see as he looked through Voldemort's eyes was the face of the man who'd betrayed him so deeply. Pale as milk, weary, etched with terror. And Harry could see defeat in his eyes, resignation, and a regret so palpable that it pierced him like the jagged edges of Sirius' shattered mirror.

The world seemed to stop. Harry felt all the emotions he'd bottled up over the years come gushing forth like molten lava breaking free from the earth's crust. Anger at the man's treachery mingled with grudging respect for his brilliance. The man who'd saved his life countless times. The man who'd made his life miserable at every turn. The man who had taught him, through a battered text, information that had saved lives. Voldemort's lackey. The Half-Blood Prince.

The man who'd killed Albus Dumbledore.

The man Dumbledore had trusted above all others. The very man Dumbledore had summoned just moments before his death.

But none of that mattered. Harry's body, led by his heart, acted of its own accord. He leapt forward from his hiding place at the mouth of the tunnel, wand drawn and pointed at Voldemort and the infernal snake, and hurled a blasting curse at the support beam directly behind the twisted wizard. The air exploded in fire and debris, staggering master and snake and buying Snape a fraction of a second that Harry hoped he would use to Apparate to safety.

But the man had no such intention. He spun around, dark robes billowing, his features the picture of shock and terror. But upon meeting Harry's gaze, they contorted into an ugly snarl. Before Harry could react, the man barreled forward, seizing him by the forearm and knocking him back into the tunnel toward Ron and Hermione with such force that he could not cast another spell to defend himself.

He'd made a grave error, he realized. Whatever small voice had compelled him to trust Snape, to save him from this horrendous fate, had been wrong, and now the man would deliver him straight into the hands of Voldemort himself, likely in a last-ditch attempt to save his own skin.

Snape did not slow in his charge. Harry barely saw his arm lash out to snare both Ron and Hermione. He encountered no resistance in the stunned teenagers.

And then the world was squeezing the life out of Harry, twisting and contorting like a broken kaleidoscope, the ground vanishing from beneath his feet before slamming back up to meet him with a force that shook him to his core.

He should have been used to it by then. He'd had over a year to familiarize himself with the sensation. But this bout had seemed particularly violent, though perhaps it had something to do with his state of severe upset.

He heard Snape's voice before he'd managed to push himself up from his knees, uttering soft incantations. Wards, he knew.

Harry blearily blinked to see where the man had taken them. It was dark, unnaturally so…. The changing rooms on the Quidditch pitch! He could vaguely make out the colors. The Slytherin changing rooms. Out of sight, outside the anti-Apparition wards of the castle….

But what did Snape intend? To sell him to Voldemort? To bargain for his own life?

Harry's attention immediately snapped to Ron and Hermione, who were staring, ashen faced and helpless as Snape waved a final ward into place. Harry reached for his wand, only to find it gone.

Then he saw what Snape clutched in his left hand. Three wands. He must have summoned them, Harry rationalized, while they'd been recovering from the forced Apparition. So they were truly at Snape's mercy now.

Snape rounded on him, though his face was strangely blank now, and unusually pale in the muted light of the changing room. The sound of canvas fluttering in the wind only added to the eeriness of the scene. Very deliberately, he tucked all three wands into the pocket of his robes, keeping the tip of his own wand trained on the three of him.

"You will have them back," Snape hissed, his words a harsh whisper, as his eyes shifted quickly between the three of them, "after we have had a chance to chat. _Do not move_."

Harry felt as if red-hot pincers had clamped down on his lungs. He could scarcely breathe, much less force words out. His mind was spinning. Why hadn't Snape cursed them? Why promise to return their wands? Had his instincts been right?

But no, that look of fury when the man had turned on him….

"What are you—," Harry began, but was quickly silenced with a flick of Snape's wand.

The man glared at him, then delved a hand into his robes, searching for something, before emerging with a nondescript glass vial. "Portkey," he explained curtly, "directly to the Headmaster's office. I've not killed you yet, I've not turned you over to the Dark Lord, and I've no _intention_ of doing so, so I ask that you offer me a modicum of trust and place your hands on this, as that will be much easier than trying to wrangle the three of you against your will. Disapparating was difficult enough."

"The wards," Hermione began, her voice a feeble croak, but Snape interrupted her, his words brusque.

"Albus spelled this himself. It will work." Snape held out the vial, his controlled posture belied by glimmers of a wild desperation in his dark eyes.

Harry locked eyes with the man for just a moment. He could not name what he saw there, but whatever it was, it assuaged his greatest fears. On a deep level, he knew that the man could be trusted, that this was not some elaborate scheme.

He turned to meet Ron and Hermione's frightened gazes, and nodded briefly.

"Are you mad?" Ron hissed.

Harry merely placed his hand on the vial.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"Today, Weasley," Snape growled. "Before we have a host of Death Eaters on our hands!"

Hermione placed her hand on the vial, and at last Ron did the same.

" _Mors certa, hora incerta_ ," Snape murmured, and at once they were hurtling through space again.

XXXXX

They landed hard on the stone floor of the office. Snape was the first to recover, and he wasted no time in spelling the wall sconces to life. Warm firelight flooded the room, and instantly the place looked less dismal.

Apparently, Snape's Silencing Charm had worn off, because Harry found that he could speak again. And the first words that rolled off his tongue were foolish and irrelevant, but the question was burning in him and he could think of nothing else to say.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?"

Snape rounded on him, his face twisted back into that ugly, furious expression that Harry had seen when the man had made to grab him in the Shrieking Shack. He'd never seen the man so angry, not even after Harry had peered into the professor's Pensieve during their Occlumency lessons. He looked thunderous, murderous even, capable of spitting fire.

"You bloody, insolent, insufferable, brainless _Gryffindor_!" the man spat, his tone the epitome of contempt. He descended on Harry like a black wraith, seizing the boy by his collar with both hands. He shook his prey violently, so hard that the boy's glasses fell askew. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking, revealing yourself like that? After all that has been sacrificed to keep you alive, you ungrateful, arrogant little _brat_ , you go and risk it all, and for what? A Blasting Curse! You could have brought the roof down on your heads! Not to mention what would have happened had the Dark Lord gotten his hands on you! You think he would have ended you quickly, with your two little friends there? He would have killed them painfully, he would have made you watch!"

"I was trying to save you!" Harry cried, trying to free himself from the strong, unrelenting hands that were rattling him as if he were a maraca.

" _I don't need saving_!" Snape roared, nearly deafening the boy. "I thought you had more sense, Potter! What would you have done, facing the Dark Lord and his snake? Not to mention me, assuming you were not aware of my true loyalties! Oh, I know you believe the three of you are invincible, and Albus has scarcely disabused you of that notion, but let me enlighten you, _you are not_. The Dark Lord has made short work of witches and wizards much more powerful and experienced than you! Have you learned nothing? You cannot confront him head on!"

At last Snape thrust Harry back, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes glazed like a feral animal's. He looked like a man deranged, with strands of hair plastered to his drenched face, his lips as pale as marble.

They stood in silence for a moment, Snape's rant somehow seeming to continue to echo in the chamber.

After a moment, Snape seemed to have calmed considerably. His eyes were less glazed, more controlled, and his chest was not heaving quite so violently. "No one was Splinched earlier?" he demanded levelly, his eyes raking up and down the three teenagers before him. When he got no response other than blank stares, he snapped, "Speak up! I keep Essence of Dittany on hand, and I need to know before you bleed out! None of you are of any use if you're incapacitated, you understand!"

When there was still no response, Snape turned on heel and stalked over to the wall, where he summoned the stone Pensieve out from the wall. Without a second of hesitation, he closed his eyes, placed his wand against his temple, and began drawing out strand after strand of silvery, flowing memories, which he dropped, one by one, into the waters of the Pensieve.

"He would have killed you," Harry said at last. His words were quiet but steady.

Snape drew another strand out, placed it in the basin, then turned crisply back to the boy, his features drawn in a fearsome glower. "He would have killed _you_ ," he returned icily. "And as only one of us is named in prophecy as the Dark Lord's equal, I think we know which would be the greater loss. Now, there are things you must know, Potter, and precious little time for you to learn them, so for once in your life _hold your damned tongue_." And with that Snape returned to the Pensieve and continued to extract memories.

He was dropping a final strand into the basin when the voice he'd grown to loathe above all others echoed like rolling thunder over the grounds.

 **"** **You have fought valiantly," Voldemort commended them. "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."**

Snape snorted derisively, unable to help himself. He ignored three pairs of wide eyes that suddenly swung to him.

 **"** **Yet you have sustained heavy losses," the voice continued. "If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.**

 **"** **Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.**

 **"** **You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.**

 **"** **I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."**

"Harry, you can't," Hermione hissed, shaking her head frantically.

"Yeah, mate, don't listen," Ron added.

Snape ignored them, instead choosing to summon a bottle of firewhiskey and four glasses. He collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the one he still thought of as Albus' chair even after a year of perching there and listening to students and teachers and sycophants alike address him as "headmaster". He poured himself a full tumbler of the amber liquid, deciding he'd best get a head start before the boy learned the truth.

Merlin, he couldn't do this. Why hadn't Potter let the damned snake do its work?

"Sir?" Harry's voice wavered, betraying his perturbed state.

Snape closed his eyes. "You have questions, Potter, I'm sure, though I'm gratified for your blind trust. It has made matters simpler." He jerked his head at the Pensieve. "Look. You alone. It's bad enough I'll have you traipsing through my private memories."

"Our wands—"

"You will have them back _after_ you have looked, Potter, after you have understood everything." He tried to keep his voice biting and impatient, but he could not sustain it. It tapered out, only to finish as a broken whisper. He cleared his throat lightly, then added, "I haven't hexed or tortured you yet. I think you will survive another few minutes at my mercy."

Harry's green eyes bored for a few moments into Snape's, questing for something. Whatever it was, the boy seemed to have found it, because he moved without hesitation over to the Pensieve and plunged into it head-first.

Snape flicked his wand at the bottle of whiskey, filling two other tumblers and sending them bobbing over to the haggard Gryffindors. "Sit," he commanded wearily, passing a hand over his eyes. "You'll want that, trust me. The night is not yet over."

Neither Ron nor Hermione moved to touch the glasses bobbing in the air. They still stared at him, stricken, as if neither could come to terms with the scene before them.

"You killed Dumbledore," Hermione whispered, though it did not come out as an accusation, merely a simple statement of fact that she seemed to be having difficulty grasping given the current situation.

"I did," Snape agreed calmly.

"Why?" Ron demanded angrily, his face flushing red. "You two-faced—"

"Because, Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore asked me to. Because the task was given to Draco, who, upon failure, would be killed by the Dark Lord, likely painfully, as punishment. Because Professor Dumbledore very foolishly decided to accessorize with a ring carrying a curse of extraordinary power and neglected to contact me in a timely fashion, thus sealing his own death. Because killing the man was the only way the Dark Lord would fully trust me, and place me in a position of power in Hogwarts, where I could at least attempt to mitigate some of the atrocities his followers endeavored to carry out, not to mention clandestinely aid you three at Albus' portrait's direction! And because the old man made me _promise_ , and in spite of my many other faults, I am, if nothing else, a man of my word!"

Snape had not meant to let his voice grow quite so loud. By the time he finished he was bellowing, the words chafing his throat. But he could not help it. The wound was still fresh and festering, even after a year. It was one he doubted would ever close. Albus had been everything to him in these last years, the only soul who had looked on him with trust, the only one who had believed, unequivocally, that he was capable of keeping to the path, of not straying back into darkness. The only man who knew the depth of his pain and remorse and scars. And to all the world, he was the man's murderer.

Snape took a large gulp of firewhiskey, grateful for the distraction of the liquor's burn coursing its way down to his gut. Then he continued more calmly, his penetrating gaze fixed on the stunned pair, "Now, shall I repeat that under Veritaserum, or can we perhaps discuss _strategy_ for the resumption of this battle, before our allotment of time runs out? Because as entertaining as the former might be for you, the latter seems a trifle more important!"

It was at that exact moment that Harry emerged from the Pensieve, gasping like a drowned man would for air. His turbulent green eyes sought out Snape's, and when they locked gazes again, Snape felt all his pain and regret come burbling to the surface. He could hide nothing from the boy, and for the first time in years he knew that all his emotions were flayed and on display for Lily's son to see.

And those expressive green eyes, they were open too, filled with so much pain and terror and determination. Too, there was understanding of a kind. And not a trace of loathing.

It was as if the two, the potions master and the Boy Who Lived, were seeing each other for the very first time.

XXXXX

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, throwing herself across the room. Ron wasn't far behind her.

"What was it? What did he show you?" Ron demanded. "You can lie in memories, you know—you don't have to believe a thing that git—"

"No, Ron," Harry said quietly, hoping the seriousness of his tone would be enough. He felt so tired suddenly, so brittle, and he didn't have the energy to try to defend Snape. Not now, when he knew what still lay before him. He slumped down in one of the chairs and began massaging his temples. "He did exactly as Dumbledore asked. He's on our side. And we don't have time to argue that, so if you don't trust _him,_ at least trust _me_ , all right?"

Harry expected Ron to argue, but the boy just nodded curtly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked softly, her gaze flickering between Harry and Snape.

Harry glanced down at his battered gold watch. Forty minutes still remained before Voldemort's little ceasefire would be at an end. "There's something I have to do," he said. "Alone. And you can't know about it, either of you. I know you don't understand, and I know you don't want to believe me, but you have to trust me, and you can't ask questions."

"You're going to give yourself up!" Ron hissed. "You can't—Snape's manipulating you—"

"Of course I'm not going to give myself up!" Harry lied smoothly. "Don't be an imbecile! I just have to do this alone. And I need to talk to Snape about it, okay? Look, you both should go down to the Great Hall. Rally the troops. Ron, you… you should be with your family, okay?" Harry swallowed thickly. "Tell them… tell them I'm sorry. All of them."

"God, Harry," Hermione cried, "you can't expect us to believe you're not going to give yourself up when you talk like that! There's no reason to be a martyr, none—"

"Don't be thick!" Harry hissed. "I'm not, all right? This thing I have to do, it's just going to be dangerous, you understand? There's a chance… but we're at war, right? There's always a chance that the worst could happen. So tell them for me. Give them my love, just in case."

Both of them looked hesitant, like they were about to attach themselves to Harry's side and declare that they would walk with him to Hell and back if they had to.

"This is what Dumbledore wanted," Harry added quietly, and those seemed to be the magic words. Yes, Dumbledore had everything figured out, didn't he? They'd trust Dumbledore. Blindly. They'd all trusted Dumbledore blindly, Harry most of all….

"Okay," Hermione whispered. "We'll see you before the hour's up?"

Harry nodded, feeling sick. "If all goes well. I need you to pass word along, though, about the snake—Nagini. It has to be killed at all costs. That's your number one priority, and I need you to spread the word. Tell Neville, he was in charge of DA."

"The last Horcrux," Hermione murmured.

Harry's gut clenched harder. Almost, he thought.

Hermione stepped forward and wrapped him in a fierce embrace, one that made him wonder for an instant if she'd seen right through his lies. She was too clever for her own good most days, after all.

"Be careful," she whispered.

"See you soon," Harry replied, trying his best to project cool confidence.

Ron's embrace was even fiercer, strong enough to bruise ribs. "Don't do anything stupid, mate. No one's dying for you, you hear? They're dying for the cause. You're not that important, so get over yourself."

Ron's weak attempt at humor was enough to lift Harry's spirits, if only a fraction. And he heard the meaning behind the words. It was stupid to pin this all on his shoulders, to mire himself in guilt at this critical hour. And he appreciated it beyond words.

"Just don't go handing out 'Potter Stinks' badges," Harry muttered. "I don't think that's what we need right now."

Harry drew back and saw a slight sparkle in Ron's eyes. A glance over at Hermione revealed that there were damp streaks down her cheeks. Finally, he turned to Snape, giving him a pointed glare.

The man wordlessly withdrew Ron and Hermione's wands and tossed them lightly over the desk. Ron caught them both and returned Hermione's wand to her. Harry couldn't miss the way the two reacted to the return of their wands; both of their bodies relaxed almost as soon as the wood touched their hands.

He spent a moment just staring at them, wondering if he could brand the image of them into his mind so powerfully that he would carry it with him to the grave. That thought threatened to release a floodgate, one he knew he would have to keep closed if he was to do what needed to be done.

It was time to cut the cord. "We don't have much time. I still have to figure some details out, and you've got to get the word out about Nagini. But I'll see you soon, all right?"

They both nodded, but before they could leave Snape's hoarse voice interrupted them.

"Take your drinks. Just to take the edge off."

The man had stood so quietly throughout the exchange, not uttering a single word. And now, to utter something so out-of-character, as if he cared whether the Gryffindors he'd constantly belittled and insulted could cope with what was coming….

But Harry knew Severus Snape a bit better now. Snape had spared few details in the Pensieve; he'd given Harry a full accounting of his character, of his mistakes, of his service under Dumbledore. Harry had seen the man and all his flaws, all his misery, and now he felt he knew a little what lurked beneath the off-putting front the man projected.

Ron and Hermione surprisingly obeyed, plucking the glasses from the air. Ron raised his in a small toast toward Harry before they left the office.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, desperately trying to push away everything he'd just learned. _I must die. Dumbledore intended for me to die. Dumbledore intended for me to arrange things…._

His thoughts were briefly interrupted by the sound of ice clinking against glass, then the gurgle of liquid being sloshed into a tumbler. Harry tiredly lifted his head only to find that Snape had rounded the desk and was now holding the tumbler out to him, his own face mirroring Harry's.

But there were more lines there now, Harry thought. And nothing of the man's characteristic sneer. The face he'd grown to loath so thoroughly was wiped clean now, and looked to Harry like a pallid death mask, marred only with worry and fatigue and regret.

Harry accepted the glass with a grateful tilt of his head. Then he unflinchingly downed the entire glass, coughing a little at the sharp burn of the liquor on his vocal chords.

"I'd no idea you could lie so convincingly, Potter," Snape remarked coolly, as if they were discussing the nuances of their drinks rather than his impending death.

Harry jumped up from his chair, finding that he was far too on-edge to remain sitting. He paced the length of the office, fighting to keep himself under control. "The Sorting Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin," Harry answered, unwilling to touch upon the topic of the terrible lies he'd told to send his friends off. Now that they were gone, he wished he could call them back and beg them to go with him so that he didn't have to face this alone.

But that would just get them killed, he knew. And they would never let him go if they knew the truth. They would pin him down forcibly if they had to.

"Albus mentioned." Snape leaned against the edge of the desk, one arm holding his glass, the other wrapped tightly over his midsection. He tapped his wand lightly against the surface of the desk, rapping out a steady, soft tattoo. "You don't have to go, Potter," he said suddenly, very quietly.

Harry froze mid-step, his attention snapping up to Snape, face frozen in shock. "What do you mean? The whole point of you going through this song and dance was to make sure—"

"It was to deliver a message," Snape all but growled. "And that message has been delivered, has it not? I never agreed to this sick farce, and I will not force you to go out to meet that twisted, wretched _thing_ I've called my master for the past three years, regardless of what Albus intended! You're a child, not some sacrificial lamb to be proffered up because a charlatan mumbled as much while her eyes rolled back in her head! You have the information, Potter, and as far as I'm concerned, the choice is yours. You don't have to go now. You don't have to go at all. You could go lay at his feet and let him curse you to oblivion, and he'll turn around and slaughter every innocent in the castle because it suits his mood. He has no soul and no conscience, and pretending that your compliance will so much as give him pause is sheer idiocy."

"You think Dumbledore was wrong? That this"—Harry jabbed a finger at his scar—"isn't a piece of Voldemort's soul?"

But Snape was shaking his head immediately. "I believe that Dumbledore was correct, that a fragment has latched itself onto you. It is the best explanation for everything we have witnessed—the dreams, the visions, the pain, the link to the Dark Lord's emotion."

"But if that's true, then I have no choice—"

"There is always a choice," Snape interrupted. "You think Dumbledore has backed you into a corner, Harry, that you must sacrifice yourself, that anything less would be unacceptable. But it simply ludicrous to place that burden on your shoulders. It is not your duty to die for this, and no one would think less of you for turning away from it."

"It's the only way!" Harry yelled, hurling his tumbler at the wall. It shattered into a cascade of glass splinters.

Snape cleared the mess away with a sharp flick of his wand. His feverish eyes never left Harry, though. They burned into him, two obsidian pits. "We can weaken him! We can win this battle without ending him for good! We can keep watch and make certain that he does not return to power, that his plans are foiled sooner, that there is no one left to aid him—"

"That's never worked!" Harry raged. "Haven't you been paying attention? He _always_ comes back. There are _always_ going to be people looking for what he can offer. Dumbledore spent his whole life trying to keep him from coming back, much good it did, and he was the most powerful wizard the world's ever seen! Don't you understand? I can end him! I'm supposed to end him! It's my destiny!"

"Then _defy it_!" Snape hissed. "You are not bound by those words! This burden was thrust upon you. There is no need for you to die so young. If we rally now, if we manage to destroy the snake, we may be able to scrape a victory today, do you understand? You may be able to have more time. You may—"

"I don't want that! I'm ready, okay? I don't like this, and I'm scared as hell, but I'm ready and willing to go out and do this if it means putting an end to this bastard once and for all."

Snape stared at him harder, his eyes piercing, seeming to probe to the depths of Harry's soul. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but he managed to hold the professor's gaze without flinching.

"You want this?" Snape clarified quietly. " _You_ , Harry Potter, the seventeen-year-old wizard, not the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived, not the promised savior?"

Harry swallowed thickly. He didn't know what Snape was getting at. But he knew, as soon as he'd spoken the words, that he really did need to do this. That he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he turned away from this. Everyone had already risked their lives. Too many had died. And if they'd been willing to lay down their lives, so could he.

"Yes. I'm not the only one who's been willing to die. Everyone—every single person here—is risking as much. I don't see why I should be any different."

Snape nodded once in acceptance. "Your life has never been your own, Harry. I realized that the moment Albus told me…. I want it to be yours in this, if nothing else. I want you to feel that you are choosing this freely, not because there is no other way."

Harry had to swallow several more times to fight back the tears. He couldn't take this. Not from Snape. Not when the man had tormented and bullied him for years and years. He couldn't take it; it was going to break him.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he finally choked out.

Snape didn't smile. "You don't know how much I regret that."

Harry groaned, turning abruptly away from the man. "Don't. For the love of God, don't start. If I'm going to do this, I don't want it to be after a game of only ifs. The past is dead, all right? Let's just call it even and leave it at that." Harry forced himself to draw a deep breath, then another.

At last, he glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes. Hell, he wasn't going to make it.

"I need my wand. I need to get down to the grounds so I can Apparate. Agh, my cloak!" he suddenly realized. "I left it—"

Harry heard the rustle of fabric and, turning back to the professor, found that the man was drawing the familiar shimmering material from within his robes, along with Malfoy's wand. He offered both out to Harry, his expression unfathomable.

"You grabbed it!" Harry cried. "How did you manage? You—"

"I'm very good at what I do," Snape replied simply. "Now, I believe we have a deadline to keep."

Harry took the cloak warily, trying to scrutinize Snape's expression. "We?" he asked tentatively. Snape had probably just spoken figuratively, as in the 'we' united against Voldemort.

A small smile flickered over Snape's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, 'we'." He flexed his left arm slightly. "I believe my master has requested my presence, and I'd rather not arrive empty-handed."

Harry was shaking his head before Snape had finished speaking. "Absolutely not! Are you daft? He'll kill you on sight! He didn't even hesitate before, not that you even raised your wand—"

"We're not arguing this, Potter. As I've painstakingly pointed out to you, we all have chosen to put our lives at great risk to end this once and for all. You are no exception, and neither am I. Besides, I think I know the Dark Lord's temperament well enough to be confident that I will have at least a few moments to explain myself. You are, after all, a rather fine gift to bring him."

"But the wand," Harry protested. "He's not going to let you live if he thinks that you're the master—"

"Ah, that's what I've been doing all this time. I captured you, you see, and interrogated you rather brutally, assuming that Albus must have imparted some knowledge about the Elder Wand to his favorite pupil. And, lo and behold, he did. Now, if my calculations are correct, Fate is on our side—"

"Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore. And I disarmed Malfoy."

"I thought I recognized his wand. So yes, Mr. Potter, congratulations. You are the true master of the Elder Wand." Snape spoke the words with a veneer of his usual sarcasm, but they came out brittle and hollow.

"You're going to explain that to the Dark Lord—"

"And since you're slated to die anyway, it will make no difference. I'd rather not see the Dark Lord as the true master of the Deathstick, but I see little other choice. Not if I'm to maintain my cover and strike when he's most vulnerable. Not that the Elder Wand will do him much good against a curse square to his back from his favorite servant…."

Harry nodded grimly. But then he froze. "But—but if I don't fight him at all, will he have really defeated me? Will the wand recognize that?"

Snape was silent for a moment. "No, I don't believe it will recognize voluntary surrender as true victory."

"But if Voldemort doesn't sense the wand's loyalties change, you'll—"

"He'll be euphoric, Potter, believe me. It might buy me enough time—"

"But if it doesn't?" Harry demanded frantically. "I can go alone—"

"Enough!" Snape hissed. "You've the right to forfeit your life for this, the same as me. This is not martyrdom. This is a calculated, strategic move on both of our parts, collateral damage for the cause. If I'm going to die, it won't be in a bout of idiotic Gryffindor heroics. Is that clear?"

Harry knew there was no point in arguing. And there was no more time. Besides, Snape had risked his life for years already. There was no sense in him trying to draw the line here, not when it could potentially do them so much good, and give them the advantage they needed.

So he replied, in the surliest tone he could muster, "Yes, _sir_."

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tone, Mr. Potter." And with that comment Snape downed the rest of his firewhiskey and stood, squaring his shoulders. "It's time."

Harry held out his Invisibility Cloak to Snape. "In case of friendly fire."

Snape raised an eyebrow but accepted it. "Your father is undoubtedly rolling in his grave right now…."

"I think he'd understand."

Snape spread the cloak over himself, disappearing from sight. Surprisingly, the cloak was long enough to hide even Snape's tall form completely. "Post-haste, Potter," the man snapped impatiently.

And with that they were off.

XXXXX

Harry glanced down at his watch again. Seven minutes. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the cool, damp air of the Forbidden Forest wash over him.

"They're just up ahead," Snape informed him, emerging from the Invisibility Cloak. He bundled it up swiftly and tried to pass it back to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "It's not going to do me any good—"

"Take it," Snape growled. "I can fend for myself. And I wouldn't be caught dead hanging on to anything of _Potter's_."

Harry took it feebly and stuffed it into his shirt. He could read between the lines in that comment. _It was your father's. You should have it, especially now_. And he didn't have the heart to argue, not when the fabric felt to him like a security blanket.

A flash of insight streaked through Harry's mind. He fumbled for the cord at his neck, the leather pouch containing the Snitch that Dumbledore had bequeathed to him. _I open at the close._

"I need a minute. Alone."

Harry expected a snide comment about them not really having a minute to spare. But to his surprise, Snape merely nodded and stepped away to stand in the shadow of a massive tree, far enough away that Harry could have some privacy but not so far that he couldn't keep watch.

Without wasting any time, he drew out the Snitch and, pressing the cold metal to his lips, he whispered, "I am about to die."

The golden sphere split, revealing the cracked stone in the center. The Resurrection Stone. He scooped it gently into his hand, feeling the weight of it pressing against his palm. He couldn't breathe. He turned the cracked stone once, twice, three times in his hand.

He could feel them without looking. More solid than ghosts, but less than flesh, they walked toward him with bright, beatific smiles on their faces. His father, hair askew like his; Sirius, young and untouched by the ravages of Azkaban; Lupin, his face fresher and brighter than Harry had ever seen; and, of course, his mother, whose grin practically split her face in two, who looked at him with a starved expression, as if she were trying to take all of him in at once and hold him there.

 **"** **You've been so brave,"** Lily said.

 **"** **We are… so proud of you,"** James added, his eyes sparkling.

 **"** **Does it hurt?"** Harry whispered, the words spilling past his lips before he could stop them.

 **"** **Dying? Not at all,"** Sirius reassured him gently. **"Quicker and easier than falling asleep."**

 **"** **And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over," said Lupin.**

Harry nodded sagely. "Snape is with me. I… I'm glad I don't have to go alone." He didn't know why he said that, especially to the loved ones gathered before them, who all hated the man.

"I'm glad Sev is with you," Lily whispered to him, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. "He does care, you know. He didn't want you to come."

"He's a good man," James pronounced softly, his words utterly sincere.

 **"** **I didn't want you to die,"** Harry said suddenly. **"Any of you. I'm sorry—"**

"None of that now," Sirius said firmly. "Harry, it's time… you have a choice to make."

Harry could hear Snape's footsteps, the crackle of twigs beneath the man's boots. It was time. And his decision was made. **"You'll stay with me?"** he pleaded softly, the words a bare whisper.

 **"** **Until the very end," said James.**

 **"** **They won't be able to see you?" asked Harry.**

 **"** **We are a part of you," said Sirius. "Invisible to anyone else."**

 **Harry looked at his mother.**

 **"** **Stay close to me," he said quietly.**

"Potter—Harry. It's time." Snape's voice was soft but clear, and it carried easily through the dark forest.

Harry turned to face the man, and he was shocked to see the raw pain in the man's eyes. His mother's words echoed in his mind. _He does care_. It was strange that it was so comforting to know that now. That he was not just a tool to the man, but Lily's son. Hell, he didn't even mind the man thinking of him as a _child_. It was better than being the Chosen One.

"How do we do this?"

"I'd best have your wand—or, rather, Draco's wand—if we want this story to be believable. And… I think it would be easiest if I put you under a light Imperius curse. Just enough to make it look authentic."

At one time, the thought of being under Snape's control would have been revolting. But Harry trusted the man's judgment now, and Snape did have a difficult part to play. So he passed Draco's wand back, and braced himself.

To his utter shock, Snape clasped a hand on his shoulder. "It's not too late to turn back—"

"I'm going," Harry croaked, glancing at the Marauders and Lily for encouragement. They smiled silently at him, and that was enough to bolster his waning courage. "Listen, you have to hold your position until his snake's killed. That'll give you the advantage you need. There'll be nothing left between him and death."

Snape nodded once, accepting the decision. Then he squeezed Harry's shoulder, the gesture strangely comforting, before lifting his wand.

Harry couldn't help it; he shuffled back automatically, a feeling of apprehension overwhelming him.

"Do you trust me, Potter?" Snape growled, but his words weren't sarcastic. It was an honest question.

And Harry did, he realized. He nodded swiftly and braced himself.

" _Imperio._ "

A blanket of fog descended on Harry's mind, and he felt himself slipping deep into it. The world receded from around him, taking on a pleasant, far-away quality.

"Now," Snape murmured, "for the grand finale of my three-year performance."

Harry leaned into Snape's commands, happy to obey, happy that he would not have to make his limbs do this. It had been his choice, but he would not have to go through the agony of making this march to his death.

Snape took Harry's arm just as Snape's voice in his mind urged him closer, instructing him to hold on tightly. Lost in the fog of the Imperius Curse, Harry was only too happy to obey. Snape rolled up his left sleeve, baring the Dark Mark, and pressed the writhing tattoo. And with that they were whirling away into the clearing, straight to Voldemort himself.

XXXXX

Even through the fog of the curse, Harry was able to appreciate the finesse Severus Snape possessed in playing his role. He could almost feel the sneer on the man's face, and the waves of hostility radiating toward him. He had resumed his role, and he had committed to it.

They stood in the clearing that had once been Aragog's domain, near the pit that had housed so many of his descendants—the very descendants that had swarmed the castle, forced by the Death Eaters to attack and wreak havoc.

The Death Eaters stood in a half-circle flanking Voldemort, most of them silent and watchful. Behind them burned a massive, crackling bonfire.

The instant Snape and Harry appeared in the clearing, Harry staggering slightly from the Apparition, every Death Eater in the vicinity snapped toward Snape, their wands lifted up, ready to curse him at their master's command.

Voldemort did not lift his wand, though. He looked… astonished, as if the scene before him were too surreal to comprehend.

Snape sank down to one knee, and commanded coldly, "Kneel, Potter."

The words wrapped around Harry's mind, and nothing seemed more wonderful to Harry than sinking down onto the ground.

"NO!" a voice roared from somewhere just outside the clearing. "YEH—YEH BASTARD! I'LL GUT YEH, SNAPE, I'LL GUT YEH MESELF FER THIS!"

Hagrid, Harry realized, though the revelation meant nothing to him.

"Silence him!" someone snarled, a male voice, and an instant later Hagrid could be heard no more.

"My lord," Snape uttered, reverence dripping from every syllable.

"Severus," Voldemort greeted him, nothing but surprise showing in his cold, high voice. "I thought you had fled."

"My apologies for my tardiness, my lord." Snape still did not rise. "You know I would gladly give my life in your service, and that was my intention… but I spied Potter, and I thought to pursue him."

"And I am to believe, Severus, that you have been playing cat-and-mouse with Harry for the last hour? That you have at last captured him and brought him to me? And that, even now, you are prepared to lay down your life for me?"

"It's a plot!" Harry recognized the high-pitched voice of Bellatrix, who sounded almost gleeful to denounce Snape. "I told you not to trust him, my lord, I told you he would turn, and now he's worked something out with Potter—"

"Silence," Voldemort hissed.

"If I may, my lord?" Snape inquired smoothly, tilting his head up just slightly. "Potter made an attempt on your life just as you had finished explaining your… dilemma… to me. I did not question your judgment in that matter, and I did not try to change your mind, but I was not about to stand idly by as _Potter_ tried to strike you in the back like some cowardly vermin.

"I cornered the boy, and I thought that, given the nature of your problem, I might be able to glean some information from him, since Dumbledore's trust in him seemed to know no bounds. As I mentioned, Draco originally disarmed the old fool, and I merely finished him off which, I fear, may have complicated matters…. Potter proved most useful on that matter."

"Rise, Severus," Voldemort commanded quietly, his tone devoid of emotion.

Snape straightened smoothly, his dark robes flowing easily around his body.

"You Legilimized the boy?"

Snape smirked cruelly. "I saw no need. No, I convinced the boy that I was working against you all along, my lord. I fed him false memories of his beloved Dumbledore entrusting me with a secret mission, and I tricked the boy into revealing all he knew about wand allegiance. It was too easy… the boy is so trusting."

Harry felt himself beginning to doubt the man. What if he really had been tricked? What if Snape had played a long, careful game to get him to walk down here, alone and unarmed and under the Imperius curse?

"No," Lily whispered, kneeling down beside him. Her long hair tumbled over her shoulder as she bent down to Harry. "He's lying, my love."

"I have to hand it to the bastard," Sirius murmured, "he knows how to play his part."

"And what have you discovered, Severus?"

Snape drew his wand and held it toward Voldemort, handle-first, his head bowed. "I would not have you think that I have come to lie to you, my lord, in order to save myself."

Voldemort waved it away, though. "Unnecessary. I think you know how unfavorable your odds are… and you have brought the boy. I will hear what you have to say."

"I thought to offer you Potter's wand as well," Snape continued, flipping his own wand back around and lowering his arm. His voice changed to a sneer. "But the clumsy boy has _lost_ it. And as you remember, certainly, he slipped through the clutches of your servants a while back… at Malfoy Manor, I believe." Snape withdrew Draco's wand from his robes and tossed it at Voldemort's feet. Harry saw, from the corner of his eye, both Lucius and Narcissa, who suddenly looked stricken. "You recognize it, my lord?"

Voldemort drifted forward slightly, his red eyes observing the object with contempt. His lip curled in disgust. "Lucius, Narcissa," he called, his voice frighteningly gentle, "I believe we've found your son's wand. Come, pick it up."

Narcissa scuttled forward, keeping her head bowed down, looking very much like a terrified animal. She scooped the wand up and hastily retreated, being certain to stoop in a low bow as she did.

"The boy confirmed that disarming was enough for a wand to change loyalties?" Voldemort inquired smoothly, ignoring the Malfoys once more.

"Indeed. Meaning that Draco won the wand's loyalty from Dumbledore."

Harry heard both Lucius and Narcissa's sharp gasps at that.

"Until Potter overpowered Draco. The wand answers to him now." Snape gestured down to Harry elegantly. "And so, my lord, I present to you the solution to _all_ of your problems."

"You did not disarm the boy, Severus?" Voldemort murmured, gliding forward. Harry could feel the man's snakelike eyes raking him up and down.

"There was no need. The boy trusted me. He gladly handed over his wand. Didn't you, Potter?"

The words flowed from Snape through his mind and out Harry's mouth, all seamlessly. "Yes, Professor Snape."

A chorus of cackles erupted from the Death Eaters. Voldemort's pale face split in a wide grin, revealing a row of bleached white teeth that reminded Harry of bones in a graveyard.

"Severus." The strange warmth in Voldemort's voice was enough to send shivers down Harry's spine. He sounded as if he was greeting a long-lost son. "You have, yet again, proven yourself _invaluable_. Come, take your rightful place beside me."

Snape smirked and obeyed sauntering forward. Voldemort laid a hand on the man's shoulder for a moment, his red eyes gleaming in satisfaction.

"Your devotion is exemplary," Voldemort said quietly, though his voice still carried easily throughout the clearing. "It will not be forgotten. No, Severus, I was hasty before… far too hasty. You are indispensable, and you will be rewarded beyond measure for the services you have rendered me."

Snape retained his composure, though his bearing became rather regal as he settled in at Voldemort's right. "You do me too much honor, my lord," Snape murmured.

"Come. Let us finish with this business. Release him, Severus."

And with that the haze faded, and Harry's mind was once again his own. He clutched the stone more tightly in his palm as he sought out the gaze of his family. He saw them crouched down around him protectively, as if they would allow no harm to come to him. His mother's face was so close that, had she been flesh, he could have turned his head to kiss her cheek.

Harry could feel the weight of so many expectant eyes on him. Bellatrix looked as if she might start clapping her hands from excitement at any moment; her breast was heaving, and her eyes were wide with joyful anticipation. The others—Rowle, Yaxley, Dolohov, and several other faces he could not place—watched, looking strangely relieved. Far off, he could make the bound form of Hagrid thrashing uselessly against the trees he'd been lashed to. And by the fire, floating gently just behind Voldemort, was Nagini in her glittering cage, twisting and writhing ominously.

But the whole of his audience, even Snape, seemed to fall away as he dared to meet Voldemort's hate-filled gaze. The smile he'd worn to welcome Snape back into the fold had turned utterly cold.

 **"** **Harry Potter,"** he breathed. **"The Boy Who Lived."** He raised his wand.

Harry closed his eyes, but the flash of green light that hit him was so bright that it penetrated even his eyelids.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows! Direct quotes from J. K. Rowling's** ** _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_** **are in bold. Cheers, and enjoy!**

Snape thought that killing Dumbledore had been enough of a shock, that he had adequately prepared himself for what was yet to come. And this time the death would not be at his hands, he told himself. It was inevitable and necessary, and above all it was Potter's choice.

But the hard truth was that nothing could prepare him for that moment. He watched the jet of light streak out and collide with the boy. He watched Potter crumple down like a limp marionette cut from its strings. And it felt worse, even, than when he'd sent Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower. It was like a Bludger striking him square in the stomach, and it was all he could do to hold his composure.

The sneer on his face was so stiff that it felt like a mask, like someone had stuck his features in place and they could no longer correspond with the emotions whirling within him. It was just as well that he could hide all those painful thoughts behind the walls of Occlusion in his mind, obscuring them with a false satisfaction that had nothing to do with seeing the boy's life snuffed out so carelessly.

The sudden collapse of the figure next to him tore him from that pain, though, snapping him back to the present and the work that had yet to be done. This was far from over.

He heard the soft ripple of gasps in the clearing as Voldemort toppled to the ground.

"My lord!" Bellatrix cried, her voice breathy and immoderate. "Oh, my lord, my lord…." The words became almost a keening as she rushed to his side. A few other Death Eaters also approached cautiously, paling.

Snape knew better than to remain towering over his master, so he dropped immediately into a kneel, bowing his head slightly to avert his gaze. He almost hoped that the foul wizard's Killing Curse had somehow rebounded on him again, though he doubted Fate would be so kind. And sure enough, he could make out the faint rise and fall of Voldemort's chest. He bit his tongue to keep himself from cursing.

Bellatrix was leaning over the pale man, her hands fluttering nervously.

"Enough," Voldemort wheezed, the word fragile.

Seeing an opportunity to further ingratiate himself to his so-called master, Snape growled in his most ferocious voice, "Back, you fools. You think the most powerful wizard of our time needs you fawning over him?"

The circle of Death Eaters immediately expanded back. Snape was almost pleased to see how much power his word now held.

Yes, he was, for the moment, the uncontested favorite. Funny that, at one time in his life, he would have killed for this level of recognition and respect. Now the thought merely nauseated him.

"Can I serve you, my lord?" Snape demanded, dropping his voice to a low and unassuming murmur.

Voldemort pushed himself up, brushing off his robes brusquely. "Rise, Severus," he instructed, his voice hoarse. "The boy, is he dead?"

No one had approached Potter. Snape saw that as he rose to his feet and readjusted his own robes. The boy's body still lay on the ground, undisturbed. No one had dared to approach it.

"You!" Voldemort spat, whipping his wand at Narcissa. The woman shrieked in pain as a small jet of red light hit her. "See to the boy."

Snape watched carefully as Narcissa scurried forward, casting a fearful glance back at Voldemort, before kneeling down. Snape watched as her hand fumbled at the boy's neck, seeking out a pulse. A sideways glance told him that Voldemort was scarcely observing, as if he truly were not concerned, as if he knew with absolute certainty that the boy had been killed.

Arrogance, Snape thought. It would be the death of him, with any luck.

A small motion caught Snape's eye. Through the pale curtain of Narcissa's hair, he thought he caught the woman's lips moving. A prayer? No, the woman wouldn't waste her time.

And then he caught it, just a faint tremble, but he was so certain of it. It couldn't have been just his desperate imagination.

 _Harry's lips moved too._

And then… Narcissa leaned in further, and he could have sworn he saw…. But no. The woman wouldn't have slipped Draco's wand into the boy's pocket.

Severus forced himself to continue to breathe evenly, to shroud his mind with other thoughts. Not that he believed Voldemort would think to Legilimize him _now_. Whatever was going on… he could not get his hopes up. He would not. The boy had given his life. There was no way around it. He'd been hit squarely by that curse.

"He is dead!" Narcissa cried, standing up.

The clearing erupted in shouts and cries of victory. Bellatrix lifted her wand and shot off sparks. And laced throughout it all was Voldemort's cold, clear laugh, one of pure jubilation.

Snape, for his part, merely plastered a self-satisfied grin on his lips, hoping that it was convincing enough. The force of keeping himself from hoping that there might be a chance—even a small one—was making him ill.

"Dead!" Voldemort cried, his voice almost child-like in his glee. "And so ends the great Harry Potter! _Crucio_!"

A blast of red and the boy's body was tossed into the air like a rag doll. It took Snape every ounce of willpower to continue smiling and force out a few small peals of laughter. Voldemort repeated the curse twice more before he was finally satisfied. Even then, though, the jeering and shrieking continued; the Death Eaters cackled wickedly, like a pack of crazed hyenas.

 **"** **Now," said Voldemort, "we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body?"**

Snape knew better than to interfere, to risk anything—especially his voice trembling now. It did not matter, he knew, how Potter's corpse made it back.

But the thought of the boy being dragged was nearly unbearable.

"Make the half-giant carry it, my lord," Snape suggested as smoothly as he could. "So that all can see."

"Yesss," Voldemort hissed approvingly, favoring Severus with a small smile. "Oh, indeed." Voldemort gestured with his wand, and at once Hagrid's bonds were cut. **"He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses—put on the glasses—he must be recognizable—"**

Snape watched as someone—Dolohov, he thought—smashed the boy's glasses back onto his face before Hagrid was prodded forward. The great, bearded man bent down and scooped Harry up as if the boy were one of his fragile wounded animal. Snape could already see the great sobs wracking the man's chest, and the rivulets of tears spilling down his cheeks.

If the boy was alive—and a big if that was, he reminded himself—he was doing a remarkable job of remaining limp.

"Move," Voldemort commanded, and with a chorus of whoops and cheers Hagrid was forced forward. The Death Eaters streamed behind him, causing such a racket that they sent wildlife scattering in every direction.

Voldemort cast a pleased smirk at Snape. "Come, Severus. I believe the students are in need of a little discipline from their headmaster."

Snape followed beside Voldemort, forcing a cold smile over his features, trying to project enthusiasm for his upcoming opportunity to distribute "discipline".

Snape felt something slither by his feet; he glanced down, only to see that Nagini was gliding forward over the forest floor, questing for her master, no longer imprisoned in the floating cage.

Snape's hand twitched for his wand. If he could just get a spell off, he could end that bloody, cursed snake. Harry's orders be damned. He wasn't about to listen to the strategic advice of some seventeen-year-old whelp….

He sighed internally. No, he would. Because what little he knew of Horcruxes—still more, he reckoned, than the average wizard—meant that a simple spell would not be sufficient to destroy the creature. And if he gave his position away so quickly, he would be of absolutely no use in the ensuing fight. He would be dead before they even cleared the forest.

Yes, he would hold his position and pray that Weasley and Granger had some brilliant plan for dispatching with Voldemort's pet.

They pressed on, Voldemort prodding Hagrid forward with the occasional annoyed flick of his wand.

As they reached the edge of the forest, where the trees became more sparse and moonlight broke through a bit more, Snape's keen ears picked up on the distant sound of hoofbeats. Centaurs.

 **"** **BANE!"** Hagrid's bellow jolted through Snape, stopping him in his tracks and prompting him to draw his wand.

 **"** **Happy now, are yeh, that yeh didn' fight, ye cowardly bunch o' nags? Are yeh happy Harry Potter's—d-dead…."**

The man broke down in sobs again just as Snape caught a glimpse of the centaurs' forms, still a ways off in the depths of the forests.

The Death Eaters erupted in sneering comments and insults.

"Filthy animals—"

"Cowardly beasts."

"Disgusting half-breeds!"

Snape watched carefully as the distant forms retreated deeper into the forest. They were agitated, and Snape had a powerful hunch that they were not preparing for flight. He couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation. If they had just chosen a side earlier, perhaps a few of the bodies littering the courtyard could have been spared. Perhaps this monstrous war could have robbed a few less parents of their children, a few less children of their parents….

As long as they showed up now, he thought. He hoped.

As they reached the edge of the forest and the castle came into view, Voldemort called, "Stop." The procession halted.

Voldemort lifted his wand to his throat, once more amplifying his voice for all the combatants to hear. "Harry Potter," he announced with great relish, "is dead. He turned tail and fled like the coward he is, even as you lay your lives down to protect him. But your Headmaster and my loyal servant Severus Snape captured him and brought him to me to face his destiny."

Excellent, Snape thought, precisely what he needed. An even greater target on his back. The entire staff and student body would be fighting over his head now, likely with the intention of mounting it in the Great Hall.

 **"** **The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."**

As he spoke, Nagini twisted and climbed her way up her master's body, draping herself over Voldemort's shoulders like a hideous scarf. Voldemort stroked the snake's head absently as he listened, perhaps for some kind of response to his speech, either wails or shouts of defiance.

When he heard nothing, he smiled thinly and commanded, "Come."

They advanced once more. As they did, Snape heard Hagrid's soft laments to the dead boy in his arms.

"Harry, oh Harry…." The gruff, choked-over voice was having a surprisingly powerful effect on Snape; he had to fortify his mental defenses and redouble his Occlusion efforts just to keep ahold of his emotions.

As they reached the courtyard, Snape could see that Hogwarts' defenders had, indeed, obeyed Voldemort's command to vacate the castle, though he could not imagine what they hoped to gain by such foolishness. They'd made themselves out into sitting ducks. If only they'd had the good sense to remain within, where they could still hide and ambush, and use their familiarity with their surroundings to maintain the upper hand….

But no, they had counted on Potter to lead them to victory like a conquering general. They had never imagined that greatest blow the boy had delivered to Voldemort had not been in fighting, but in surrendering.

"Stop," Voldemort commanded, and the procession fell to a halt.

McGonagall stood at the forefront of the rows of students, her arms spread slightly as if she could defend them all with her body alone. The utterly grief-stricken look on her face nearly undid Severus again; never, in all his years, had he seen the woman so completely devastated.

"NO!" she wailed as her eyes found Harry's body. It defied belief that a single word could be so filled with pain and despair.

 **"** **No!"**

 **"** ** _No!_** **"**

 **"** **Harry!** ** _Harry_** **!"**

The boy's fan club, Severus thought, but without his usual disdain. Granger, the Weasley boy and girl. Their cries twisted something in his core. This was not right, he thought. Regardless of Albus' justifications, it was disgusting that Lily's son should suffer this terrible fate, and willingly….

He fought down his wand hand, and with it the urge to utter a single Killing Curse. It would be so easy, he thought, so effortless. Voldemort would never see it coming. He could almost stab the filthy monster with his wand, he was so close.

But no. The snake. He'd promised Harry. He would hold his position, maintain his advantage.

"SNAPE!" McGonagall roared, her voice terrifying. "I'll have your blood for this, you filthy, gutless coward!"

Snape let the words wash over him like accolades. He had played his role to perfection. He smiled smugly to add to the illusion, trying to take comfort in the fact that it would all be worth it. That his own sacrifice would be nothing more than Potter's, in the end, the forfeiture of his life to ensure Voldemort's undoing. He didn't need recognition, he reminded himself, or fame or glory. He didn't need love and appreciation. He wasn't doing this for _them_.

He stole a glance at the youngest two Weasleys and Granger, just out of curiosity.

Their loathing hit him like a physical blow. Granger looked ready to cast every hex she knew on him, and the Weasley boy's hands were twitching as if only the satisfaction of rending him limb from limb would do. And the Weasley girl… her look of malice made Snape think that whatever she envisioned would put her brother and Granger's plans to shame.

Yes, without a doubt, they wanted him dead more than Voldemort. Not that he could honestly blame them….

Just as the crowd broke out in cries and taunts, Voldemort lifted his wand.

"SILENCE!" he roared, sending a charm over the crowd with a bright flash and bang. **"It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet where he belongs!"**

Snape forced himself to watch as the gamekeeper obeyed, gingerly setting the adolescent down in a broken heap at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort began pacing in agitation, running his hand over Nagini's scales all the while. "Look on him! Your hero, apprehended as he fled. Severus had to drag the boy to me under the Imperius, so lacking was he in courage. **He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"**

 **"** **He beat you!" yelled Ron.** "And if it weren't for that twisted bastard Snape—"

Voldemort lashed his wand out violently once more, and another loud bang erupted in the courtyard, extinguishing the voices.

"He was killed on his knees, begging for mercy," Voldemort lied, savoring the words as he spoke them. "Like his Mudblood mother—"

At that moment a body broke loose from the crowd, charging recklessly forward, wand drawn. Snape's heart seemed to stop in his chest.

Longbottom. The boy who couldn't stutter out a coherent sentence his first year, who had blown up and melted more cauldrons than three years' worth of his classmates combined, was attempting to take on the Dark Lord on his own.

Snape closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. Two more steps and he would sprawl to the ground, lifeless, because he knew his so-called master. Voldemort wouldn't tolerate defiance, even at the height of his victory.

Snape heard the boy hit the ground, and at that he let his eyes fly open. He watched Voldemort toss the boy's wand to the side, chortling to himself. And it was then that he noticed that Longbottom was not dead, only knocked down.

 **"** **And who is this?" he said in his soft snake's hiss.** "Tell me, Severus, do you recognize which foolish student has charged forward, eager to demonstrate what shall happen to those who continue to resist?"

"Longbottom, my lord," Snape sneered, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. "The son of the Aurors, surely you remember them… though I fear you left too little of their minds for them to remember you."

Cruel laughter erupted from the Death Eaters.

"Ah, yes, Neville Longbottom, I remember," Voldemort mused, his red eyes locked on the boy who struggled back to his feet. "The one who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble…."

Snape commanded his mind to work, to find some alternative to the bloody spectacle that was about to take place. He'd attended too many Death Eater gatherings in his life; he knew how this ended. Longbottom was a klutz and a fool, but he was no coward, as he'd already demonstrated. He was too proud to bend a knee. He stood alone and unarmed, and he still had the gall to defy Voldemort. And so he would die, slowly and horribly.

"A pity the boy has no brains," Snape drawled. "He has never been terribly capable. Surprising, as he is a pureblood…."

It was a longshot, Snape knew, but too many had died already in the course of this battle. And he knew that Voldemort meant what he said, that he loathed to spill more magical blood, especially that of children who could be molded and fitted into his new world order.

"Ah, but he is brave, Severus," Voldemort countered gently in what Snape imagined was his attempt at a magnanimous tone. "And Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Come, Neville, you have proven yourself here today. And you come of noble stock. Put aside this foolishness and come stand by my side. We need your kind. You would make a fine Death Eater."

Snape gritted his teeth. _If ever there was a time for a little Slytherin cunning_ , he thought. But he could sense the boy's reply before the words left his mouth. Yes, the boy was a damned headstrong Gryffindor, through and through.

Neville spat on the ground, his angry eyes piercing Snape's thoroughly. He did not even spare a glance for Voldemort.

 _Of all the times for the boy to grow a spine…._

 **"** **I'll join you when hell freezes over!"** He turned to face the crowd, meeting the eyes of several of his comrades. He raised a fist and bellowed, his words a battle cry, **"Dumbledore's Army!"**

A smattering of triumphant cheers erupted from amongst Hogwarts' defenders. Why Voldemort's Silencing Charms weren't holding was anyone's guess…. But it was a heartening sound, Snape thought. It was the sound of hope. And he sure as hell needed some hope right then.

 **"** **Very well,"** Voldemort conceded silkily.

Snape suppressed a shudder. He knew that tone, and it promised suffering and regret. Snape's hand tightened around his wand, but he willed it to stay at his side. He could do nothing, he reminded himself. He had to stand his ground, to hold his position, or Harry's death would have been in vain. And he could not allow that to be so.

Kill the snake, he reminded himself. The snake, then the madman.

 **"** **If that is your choice, Longbottom,"** Voldemort continued, his voice dangerously calm, **"we will revert to the original plan. On your head, be it."**

One flick of his wand and far off, some mysterious black object shattered a glass window in the castle and flew through the night like a strange bird in flight. Voldemort caught it easily, catching it by its narrowest end. He shook it out as casually as if it were an old piece of clothing dug out of a closet, long forgotten.

And then Snape realized what Voldemort held. His blood ran cold as he tried to follow the wizard's twisted thoughts, as he tried to guess what punishment he envisioned for the daring, hapless boy.

 **"** **There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," said Voldemort. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"**

Another gesture from Voldemort's wand and the boy went rigid, body-bound. Voldemort strode forward, a sadistic smile playing about the corners of his mouth; he forced the hat onto the young Gryffindor's head, forcing it over the boy's eyes.

Snape's eyes flickered to the crowd, where the outrage and terror was beginning to overcome paralysis. Snape mimicked the Death Eaters around him, lifting his wand and leveling it at the crowd to keep them at bay. His eyes continued to flicker between the defenders, Voldemort, and Longbottom as he tried to keep a tight hold on the situation. If there was even a second of distraction, if Voldemort flinched or blinked, perhaps he could dispatch of that blasted snake once and for all…. Two quick Killing Curses and the whole affair might be over.

"And now…." Voldemort strolled languidly to the side, allowing Nagini to slip down from his shoulders. She curled at his side, poised to strike. "Let us watch as Neville demonstrates the fate that awaits those foolish enough to continue fighting a battle that has already been lost." And with an almost lazy flick of his wand, the Sorting Hat burst into flames.

The air split with screams.

Snape's hand tightened around his wand so tightly that it turned completely white. No, he could not bear to watch this. Not another death, not another innocent in agony while he watched on frozen in horror and dread. There had been too many, and he could not stand this, not one moment longer. He'd watched the light leave Charity's eyes, he'd watched his own students bleed and suffer in Hogwart's hallowed halls, he'd even watched his only mentor and friend decay over the course of one long, terrible year, unable to intervene as the curse ran its course, except in the end to claim the man's life himself.

But no more. He would douse the flames and cast the counter-spell on Neville, and then he would turn his wand on the snake and fire every dark curse he could dredge up from the depths of his memory. He would incinerate the foul creature with Fiendfyre if that was what it took. But he would end this slow torture of playing a part, of watching on in helplessness as allies and students and colleagues dropped around him like flies.

But before he could fire off a single spell, all hell broke loose. Far off somewhere on the grounds came the thunder of feet, accompanied by shouts and cries, just as a massive giant lumbered around the side of the castle, charging forward with great purpose. Hagrid's almost-elusive brother, Snape guessed, the very creature that had been kept in the Forbidden Forest. An ally at last, Snape thought bitterly. Dumbledore would be proud.

And just when Snape thought the relief forces to be adequate to possibly turn the tide of the battle, he heard hooves—the hooves of the centaurs that Hagrid had called out, that had been mocked and spurned by Death Eaters too far gone in their euphoric high to think of the consequences of insulting such a proud race. The twang of bows sang out, and suddenly arrows were raining down from above, causing the Death Eaters to break rank, turning to the skies to cast Repulsion Spells and Shield Charms.

Severus cast a quick Shield Charm over himself, more of a precaution than anything, before turning back to Voldemort and Nagini, willing the litany of Dark curses back into his mind.

But before he could act, Longbottom was breaking free of Voldemort's binding spell—Snape nearly died with shock right there—and pulling the flaming hat from his head, only to withdraw some gleaming object from within.

The bloody Sword of Godric Gryffindor. Oh, Albus would have wet himself with glee at the scene unfolding before them.

With a great ease and sense of purpose that Snape never would have believed the boy to have possessed, Longbottom lunged forward, and in one fell stroke decapitated Nagini.

The snake was dead. Now was his chance, when everything was in chaos, when Voldemort was searching around, trying to reassess his position in relation to these new opponents. Snape raised his wand, the words on the tip of his tongue—

He felt a hand brush against his arm, then tighten, and a single word reached his ears, even amidst the din of the unfolding battle.

"Wait."

" _Potter_?" Snape hissed, his lips barely parting. His eyes automatically fell to where the boy's corpse had lain— _had_ lain. It was gone now, the ground bare. It was impossible! No, perhaps… Narcissa had whispered something to him….

The defenders of Hogwarts had broken rank by then, and they were surging forward, clamoring, likely, for his blood. And Voldemort's, but the Dark Lord had spun off to the side, casting like a hell beast at the advancing tide of centaurs, turning occasionally to lance a few curses back at the students and Order members who continued to advance, wands drawn.

Snape managed to deflect the myriad of curses flying his way, but he didn't miss the faint glimmer that betrayed a second shield, an extra layer of protection likely cast discreetly from beneath an Invisibility Cloak…..

Potter was alive. And his clear shot at Voldemort's back was gone. Snape knew that now was no time for a lengthy conversation on how the hell the Boy Who Lived had defied death itself _yet again_ , and he knew that if he breathed another word to the boy, he might give away their greatest advantage.

The unseen hand still hadn't left his arm. He hoped the boy would have the sense to follow him.

Snape retreated back through the broken ranks of the Death Eaters, his wand slashing out before him to cast continuous Shield Charms. He could make out Minerva blasting her way across the field, murder in her eyes, followed by the youngest two Weasleys and Granger. All their eyes were locked on him. Perfect.

Had no one bothered to tell them that the real threat was the snake-faced bastard who had ripped his soul to shreds through unspeakable acts in order to make himself immortal? Oh, but no, Gryffindors ranked _betrayal_ at the top of the list of sins….

Snape fired a few hexes toward them in an effort to slow their advance, before turning to flee behind the castle to take shelter. He snared Potter's arm and prayed that the Cloak would stay in place, and that no stray spells would catch him.

As soon as Severus had managed to drag the Boy-Who-Lived-Again into a sheltered spot, he cast the strongest Disillusionment Charm he knew, along with a few quick privacy wards.

"We're hidden," he announced tersely.

Potter pulled the Cloak down to stare Snape down, his green eyes blazing. "Why did you drag me over here—"

"To discuss strategy, you fool!" Snape hissed. "I don't know how in the name of Merlin you managed to survive… but there's no time." Snape shook his head to himself. "Why did you stop me?" he demanded coldly, brandishing his wand. "I could have ended him—"

"Because it has to be me," Harry told him solemnly, with such absolute conviction that Snape could not find it in him to argue.

Well, the boy _had_ died, he reasoned. Who was to say he hadn't brought some wisdom back with him from the Great Beyond?

"Very well. He will likely be the last to succumb… clearly we have the numbers. We can thin down his followers and isolate him. If you continue to hide under that infernal Cloak, you can keep the element of surprise… you're armed, I presume?"

Harry held up Draco's wand, the one that Narcissa had returned to him.

Snape couldn't help but feel a little in awe of what he saw before his eyes. It was symbolic the most blatant betrayal he'd yet to witness, and if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't thought Narcissa had it in her. Perhaps she'd realized that if Harry could take a Killing Curse directly to the chest and come back, she was fighting for the wrong side after all.

Lying to the Dark Lord was one thing. But to slip the boy a wand, her _son's_ wand….. She had made her allegiances clear.

Severus shook himself out of those contemplations. No time, he reminded himself.

"If you keep close to me and shield me, I can play the part of the faithful Death Eater and take out his ranks from the inside. The longer I maintain my cover, the more effective I'll be…."

Harry nodded his agreement.

Snape grasped Harry by the shoulders firmly, so firmly that he was certain his nails were digging into the boy's flesh. But this was important. He stared the boy straight in the eyes, Lily's eyes, and he breathed harshly, "You protect yourself first, do you understand? If you're hit by a stray curse because you decided to play the hero, Potter, you'd best hope you don't return a third time, because I'll bloody make you wish you'd stayed dead!"

Shock flitted through Harry's eyes, and for a moment the boy seemed speechless.

"Promise me!" Snape demanded sharply. "Promise me you'll look after yourself for once, or I swear to Merlin I'll body-bind you and leave you here and see to the Dark Lord myself!"

"I promise," Harry croaked, clearly startled.

Snape nodded to himself and, dropping the boy's shoulders, he turned crisply back toward the fray. With a few slashes of his wand, he lowered the wards he'd set and growled, "Let's go."

XXXXX

Harry made sure to stay right on Snape's heels. He was slowly recovering from the shock of Snape having all but dragged him out of the battle, practically pulling his arm out of its socket in the process. He understood afterward, of course—the need to coordinate with Snape. The man was a huge target, and the potions master was right; the longer the Death Eaters thought he fought alongside them, the more he'd be able to disable from behind. The chaos of the battle would keep most from realizing what had happened until it was too late.

Not that Snape seemed all that concerned with coming out of this alive. Harry was fairly positive that if he hadn't stopped the man, he would have attempted to curse Voldemort, and then he would have been struck down in the next instant by a dozen awful curses for his betrayal. The only reason he'd asked Harry to shield him was so that he could take down more Death Eaters, so that he could remain as useful as possible for as long as possible.

Well, Harry wasn't about to see him die. Not even if the man's threats had left him a little cold.

That look, the wildness in his eyes when he'd commanded Harry to protect himself…. Snape saw his role as Harry's protector as more than just a burden he had grudgingly accepted as penance. Not that the man would ever admit it, of course, or perhaps even think it. Harry had suspected as much when he'd seen Snape's memories, when the man had insisted that he consider the possibility of not walking to Voldemort unarmed. Even then the man had been acting like he wanted Harry to live for _Harry_.

But now Harry had proof positive—and likely several bruises that would match Snape's fingers on his shoulders. Yes, Snape had respected his choices, even his declaration that he needed to be the one to end Voldemort.

 _Just Old Tom now_ , Harry thought with grim satisfaction. There were no more Horcruxes for him to hide behind.

Snape had accepted that Harry would foray back into danger, onto the field of battle, just as he'd accepted Harry's decision to carry through with Dumbledore's wishes that he sacrifice himself. But that made him no less committed to ensuring Harry's survival now.

Not the survival of the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One or the Tri-wizard Champion, not the weapon the Prophecy had made of him. Snape had made his promise to Lily—to Harry himself, by extension—and the only person he was committed to protecting was _just plain Harry_. And it was terribly strange, how comforting that thought was.

Harry assessed the state of the battle before him. Voldemort's forces had scattered entirely, and all of those remaining in the courtyard were embroiled in battles for their lives. Several already lay on the ground, stunned or incapacitated, and the rest were engaged from both above and below. Hippogriffs and thestrals had flown in to the defender's aid, and now they ruthlessly swarmed down on the black-clad Death Eaters, who struggled to keep them at bay when they were so badly outnumbered.

Harry watched as Snape furtively threw a flurry of spells at Death Eaters, felling them with a speed and accuracy that sent a chill down Harry's spine. Yeah, he definitely didn't want to get on the man's bad side, he thought as he threw up a Shield Charm behind the man.

" _Muffliato_ ," Snape muttered, before turning to Harry. "They've fallen back into the Entrance Hall," he stated confidently, his black eyes roving rapidly over the remaining stragglers in the courtyard.

Harry nodded tightly in agreement—useless as the gesture was. There were no major players left out here, just a few groups of students. There wasn't a single recognizable Death Eater, no Voldemort in sight—and no Order members, either.

"You're going to keep your cover, right? Only take down Death Eaters when no one's looking? Because if you turn everyone against you, my Shield Charms—"

"Merlin's sake, Potter, do I strike you as stupid or suicidal? Yes, I will continue to play my part! But if the teaching staff and your bloody friends start after me with a storm of curses, you are to get yourself out of the crossfire, is that clear?"

Harry snorted. "I'm not going to run and hide—"

"This is not a negotiation," Snape snarled. "What will it be? Body-bind? Or can you repress your heroic tendencies for a few more minutes?"

"Fine," Harry grumbled.

"Swear on your mother's grave—"

"I swear, all right! Let's _go_ already!"

Snape turned and started off again without so much as a by-your-leave. Harry grunted in frustration as he tried to keep up with the man's swift, purposeful strides.

They were in the Entrance Hall within seconds, and the sight of the battle raging there was enough for Harry to stumble in his tracks. Everywhere, clusters of students, teachers, and Order members were squaring off against the most prominent Death Eaters. Harry saw Ron and Shacklebolt facing down Fenrir Greyback, forcing the vicious werewolf into a corner.

Snape flicked his wand, just barely, in their direction, and the air rippled with whatever subtle spell he'd chosen to cast. As the ripple of energy found its mark, Greyback stumbled—hard—giving the Order members the upper hand. And Greyback went down.

Harry had never seen Snape work up close, not like this. Certainly he'd witnessed the man's power over the years—in his second year, when he'd made such short work of Lockhart; in his Defense classes, when, for as snide and unbearable as he'd been, he'd demonstrated a stunning command of offensive and defensive magic; and, most memorably, when he'd fled Hogwarts after killing Dumbledore, when Harry had chased him across the grounds and the potions master had effortlessly deflected every spell Harry had tried to throw at him. Even then, Harry thought, the man had been trying to instruct him— _mind closed and mouth shut, Potter_.

But that was nothing compared to what he now witnessed, a fury of casting that was so coordinated, so precise, that it was nearly an art. As they dove into the fray, Harry still concealed beneath the cloak, Snape began surreptitiously crippling every Death Eater unfortunate enough to cross his path. Ostensibly, he seemed to be forging a path through the chaos to his master's side—to Voldemort, who was locked in mortal combat with three other opponents, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, and Bill Weasley, and managing, somehow, to hold his own.

Snape would engage, briefly and at a distance, with Order members and students, sending a few hexes their way—though he would exaggerate the wand movements, almost to the point of adding flourish, and cast with spectacularly bad aim. He was quick with his own Shield Charm, and for a while there were enough fights going on that Harry didn't have to worry about Snape being flanked.

But as the Death Eater's numbers thinned, thanks to Snape's precision, more and more allies were turning on the spy. After assisting Hermione and Luna with Dolohov, Ron and Shacklebolt joined the girls and began firing off hexes in Snape's general direction. Thankfully they were far enough away, on the other side of the room up by the Head Table, that they didn't pose an immediate threat. But as Snape managed to subtly (and sometimes not so subtly, depending on who was watching) fell more and more of Voldemort's remaining forces, he quickly found himself facing off against worse and worse odds, until he was no longer firing any offensive spells, only continually shielding himself from the hail of curses that the castle's defenders were raining down on him.

At last he was being forced back toward Bellatrix, who had her hands full with five attackers—Ginny, Molly, Neville, Hermione, and Arthur—and Voldemort himself, who was losing ground against his own opponents, McGonagall, Flitwick, Bill, Shacklebolt, Slughorn, and Charlie. Slowly, the three remaining invaders were being forced back toward the center of the Great Hall, like some strange, coalescing unholy trinity. Voldemort was the epitome of cold fury as he fired off spells, his red eyes glowing menacingly, and Snape's expression was stone, betraying nothing as he constructed shield after shield. But Bellatrix cackled madly in unadulterated joy, as if this were the most fun she'd had in her life.

"Ooh," she sang out, "Mummy and Daddy _are_ upset! And poor little sis, never going to see baby Freddie again…."

"Potter," Snape hissed, drawing Harry's attention from Bellatrix. The man's voice was clear even through the fizzle and crackle of spells all around them. Impressively, the man seemed able to speak and incant at the same time, as he continued to construct shields even as he addressed Harry. "Since you had neither the sense nor decency to honor your promise to _stay out of the way_ , make yourself useful and cover me."

"What do you think I've been—"

Harry just barely managed to cast a Shield Charm as Snape suddenly whipped around and, with one long, vicious swipe of his wand, sent Bellatrix crumpling to the floor, a terrible shriek erupting from her lips.

The sight of Snape's clear and sudden defection caused the wall of opponents Harry had been trying to ward off to suddenly stop—though none of them lowered their wands.

Snape wasted no time. Before Bellatrix even hit the floor he'd summoned her wand from her lax fingers and, as soon as it was in his grip, he snapped it in two.

At first Harry thought Snape had killed the deranged witch. But then he saw the deep gash on her back that stretched from her left shoulder down to her waist; blood was already spilling out, too much to hope that she could be patched back together. She was, doubtless, going to bleed out.

The woman gave another wretched gasp, and that seemed enough to draw Voldemort's attention. He roared in anger, sending all six of his opponents flying across the room, before turning, wand drawn, prepared to slay whomever had killed his most loyal lieutenant. And, misreading Snape's drawn wand, aimed now directly at Molly Weasley as if in accusation, Voldemort inevitably came to the wrong conclusion. His snakelike eyes narrowed, and he drew back his wand, presumably to cast the Killing Curse.

But before the fatal green light could reach Molly, Harry shed his cloak and bellowed the incantation for one more Shield Charm, putting all the force he could behind it. And it was enough; the bright flash of green dissipated harmlessly against the invisible wall.

A ripple of gasps and surprised cries echoed throughout the room.

XXXXX

His Sectumsempra hit its mark. Merlin, it was a satisfying feeling to watch that dreadful woman finally get what she deserved. And it had been a terribly strong curse, too, he knew, nurtured by his fury and pain and regret. He was certain that the spell had cut deep enough to score her very bones.

He could feel the blaze of Potter's charm at his back, and the roar of another flurry of spells colliding with it. Well, he thought, at least the useless boy had mastered that spell. Appropriate enough for the bloody savior of the wizarding world, to be running about like a madman now flinging Shield Charms all over the place like an invisible guardian angel.

He hadn't expected the boy to actually listen to him in the thick of things. Oh, he'd hoped Potter would at last show some common sense and dash off to the side, behind the gathering crowd of Order members and defenders, where he would no longer be in danger from the hundreds of stray spells that were flying across the room. But of course the boy had stayed.

A wandless Summoning Charm had Bellatrix's wand flying into his hand, and he snapped it over his thumb as if it were a brittle twig with the aid of a little more wandless magic.

And then he waited for the deluge he knew would come, because he would not survive this. Oh, some, perhaps, might realize the meaning of his act, but others would only see a traitor bent only on saving himself, ready to fly to the winning side as the battle drew to a close. They would see this as a last-ditch attempt, they would sneer that there was no honor among thieves after all, and they would send him to the ground with a wave of _Avada kedavras_. _And Lily_ , he thought, _perhaps I will see you at last…._

But no one moved against him. No one fired a single curse. They all stared, his opponents and Bellatrix's, wands trained on him, their eyes confused and furious and stunned.

 _Great_ , he groaned internally. So he wouldn't die on the field of battle. No, he would have to endure the formalities of a trial. They would let him live only to suffer through Azkaban. Well, he'd prepared for this eventuality. If the Aurors came, there was a fine vial tucked away in his robes, a little beauty he'd brewed in one of his more lucid moments, something he'd carried around all these years as a spy, just in case Voldemort ever discovered his treachery and decided he deserved a particularly long, nasty end for his betrayal.

And then the Dark Lord finally heard the pathetic moaning of his last loyal servant. _And lover_ , Snape thought with a sneer. Oh, they deserved each other, those two. And now it remained to be seen if the Dark Lord would instantly recognize Snape's handiwork. After all, the deep gash was practically his signature. When he'd been young and foolish, he'd shared his signature spell with his fellow Death Eaters, gleefully boasting of his spellcrafting. He'd basked in his master's praise, thinking himself oh-so-clever.

But no, the Dark Lord was far too gone in his rage to piece the mystery together. He saw that Severus' wand was now incriminating Molly Weasley, and he assumed that his last servant had identified the guilty party. And he began to arc his wand in that telltale motion that Severus knew only too well, prepared to deliver his own twisted justice upon Bellatrix's presumed killer….

"Protego!"

The boy appeared out of nowhere, a good ten feet in front of Severus, his cloak pooling at his feet. Directly in the line of fire, exposed, vulnerable to the Dark Lord's every curse. And his timely shield had caught the Killing Curse.

"Potter!" Snape snarled without thinking. Thankfully the Muffliato spell was still in effect…. He cancelled it quickly and leveled his wand at the boy, prepared to encase him in every Shield and Aegis Charm he knew.

"Severus, to me!" Voldemort hissed, his own wand pointed at Potter.

"No!" Potter yelled.

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if he would continue this charade _now_.

"Everyone, stay back! Don't help! It has to be him and me!"

Severus cursed the boy. Yes, he'd agreed to this, but in retrospect it had been foolish of him. A seventeen-year-old whelp facing down the Dark Lord alone—the Dark Lord, wielding the Elder Wand! His promise be damned, he was not about to let the boy die now just because that hag's prophecy had marked him as some kind of hero.

"Severus!" Voldemort hissed. "Join me! Together we will finish this."

Ah, he had waited years for this day. So many long, bitter years. He called to mind all the instances he'd been thrown to the ground and tortured, all the times he'd been Legilimized, all the moments of agony he'd suffered to continue his role as a spy.

A harsh smile curled his lips. "I have to decline, Tom," he replied coolly, turning his wand to Riddle. Yes, Riddle now. He didn't have to bother with those silly titles anymore.

Severus was satisfied to hear the second round of gasps ripple throughout the Great Hall.

Riddle's expression turned livid—murderous, even. "You _DARE_ —"

"Oh, yes, I dare," Snape cut him off. "You honestly believed I was _yours_ all these years? That Albus didn't sense the shifting winds, that you blindsided the old man? Better yet, that you were ever worthy of the level of devotion I exhibited? Fool."

"I'm the fool?" Riddle chortled, shifting his wand between Snape and Potter. He sidestepped carefully, as if trying to get a better angle on the two of them.

Snape's shoulders tensed, and he circled to the left, intent on keeping his distance from his old master.

"You think this ploy is not plain as day? You are such a coward, Severus, making up lies and running to the other side when things seem grim. You think they believe a word of this act? They will tear you to pieces for your crimes the first chance they get. Oh, they know better. They know you've not a shred of decency, not one ounce of their morality…. A pity you've no real ruthlessness, either. I'd hoped, when you brought me Potter—"

"He didn't bring me, you idiot," Harry laughed, cutting him off.

Snape breathed a small sigh of relief. Right. He had someone to testify for him, at least for the moment. And no one had hexed him so far. Perhaps the Chosen One's conspicuous good will toward him would preserve him for a while longer yet.

"We'd planned it all along," Harry continued. "I mean, you had to know you couldn't lure me out by taunting me. You thought I'd sacrifice myself so you'd stop being a murdering arsehole? Even I'm not that thick. Oh, no, Tom, Dumbledore knew there was one last Horcrux to take care of…." Harry tapped a finger to his scar. "Professor Snape was nice enough to walk me down. Thanks for doing the honors. Great to finally have you out of my head."

Riddle bared his teeth at that. "It doesn't matter," he snarled. "I've no need of Horcruxes for this, Harry. You've no Dumbledore to protect you now." Voldemort cast a cruel smirk at Snape. "Ah, yes, that was Severus' fine work, wasn't it? Hm, poor Severus… I doubt your old friends will be so forgiving of that small service you performed for me—"

Snape barked a laugh. "For you? Oh, that was fair fortune and coincidence, that you decided to give Draco that task. You see, even wizards as great as Albus fall prey to temptation… and some curses are too powerful to cure. But then, I recall your rather curt dismissal of all reports of his mysterious blackened hand. A bit imprudent on your part, but who am I to judge? No, you were content to believe him hale and hearty, and you plotted around that. All the while the old man was deciding how to spend his final year amongst us. Yes, Albus arranged for his own death, chose his own executioner."

Snape felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him, piercing like needlepoints. He could not keep his words from growing strained. "It was not easy, what he asked of me. But it spared him, as he said, at least some suffering and humiliation…." Snape shook his head to himself. "And to think you did not even _question_ the circumstances… to hear that a mere _boy_ disarmed Albus Dumbledore… did that not strain credulity? I'd prepared to dance and weave fantastic tales to explain it all away, but no, you were lost in your _euphoria_ ….." Snape spat the word.

"It does not matter!" Riddle repeated, this time more forcefully. "It does not matter how or why the old man died! More fitting that it was his own foolishness that did him in! I will kill this boy, Severus, and then I will attend to you—"

"Such confidence," Snape drawled. "But then, you were always a rather convincing liar."

Riddle lost it then. He sent a jet of green light flying squarely at Severus.

Severus blocked it effortlessly. "Breaking the rules of a duel, Tom?" Snape tutted. "Mm, but I suppose you've not an ounce of honor in you, so we'll have to excuse it. A shame your dear Bellatrix isn't coherent enough to see you unmasked for what you are. A dishonorable liar, so desperate to cheat death—"

"I have!" Riddle hissed. "The only wizard ever to do it. Not even your precious Dumbledore dreamed—"

"Oh, he dreamed of it," Harry cut in, his green eyes blazing. "But he was wiser than you, Riddle. He knew better than to trifle with these things."

Riddle whipped back to face Harry, his pale face drawn taut with fury. "He knew nothing! And now he is rotting away in his tomb, and I possess this!" Riddle brandished the Elder Wand.

"Yeah, but it's still not working for you, is it?" Harry jeered. "Wonder why that is?"

"I _am_ its master," Riddle hissed. "I have defeated Dumbledore and you, Harry, so whatever theories you wish to babble—"

"You defeated me? Really?" Harry gestured to himself, an eyebrow raised. "I don't feel particularly defeated. I don't think letting you try to kill me with no intention of fighting back really counts. You know, just like it didn't really work out the first time."

"Can we hurry this up, Potter?" Severus snapped, hoping his irreverent tone would help to bolster the boy's confidence. He was itching to interfere, and he was loath to trust the boy's judgment, but it hadn't led him astray so far…. "It's been a long night, and some of us are quite ready for breakfast."

Despite the tension of this confrontation, Harry's lips quirked in an amused smile, which only enraged Riddle further.

"Very well, Potter," he spat. "We duel on skill alone. I will even grant you the mercy of a swift death."

Harry raised a skeptical brow. "That wand answers to me, Tom. I think Professor Snape spelled that out quite clearly. Besides that, you've tried to kill me… hell, I've lost count over the years. Let's just say a number of times. And it never works out well for you, does it? Do you know the definition of insanity, Tom?"

Riddle opened his mouth to reply, but Harry wasn't done.

"It doesn't have to end like this," he continued, his voice losing its audacious, mocking edge. "I've seen what you'll become if you continue down this road. There's not much left of your soul to salvage. But there's still hope. Think of all the pain and suffering you've caused. Think of all the evil you've done. And try for some remorse."

Snape's eyes flickered between Riddle and Potter, his brain trying desperately to absorb what Potter had said. Remorse? Was the boy daft? He'd have better lucky inviting the Dark Lord over for afternoon tea.

Apparently, the request was so monumentally stupid that it had stunned Riddle into speechlessness.

And then the moment arrived. A strange crackle of ancient magic tore through the air as the two raised their wands. Red and gold sparks flew, radiating outward like fireworks from the center of the room.

" _Avada kedavra!"_ Riddle cried, just as Harry shouted, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

And it was over so quickly, before Severus could get even one word out about how utterly, damnably foolish it was to use a Disarming Charm against the _Dark Lord_. Before anyone could cry or cast or try to intervene.

Their spells crossed in midair, green and blue, and somehow the impact of the blue spell was enough to redirect both at Riddle. Both struck him square in the chest, sending the Elder Wand flying to Harry's hand as Riddle collapsed to the floor, lifeless as a rag doll.

No one made a sound for several seconds. It seemed as if the whole room stared at Riddle, as if trying to determine if the monster was truly, finally dead.

And then a thunderous cheer went up, and the crowds rushed forward, trampling each other to get at the Boy Who Lived, their eyes streaming with joy and relief.

Snape made a split-second decision. He snared the Invisibility Cloak from the ground, muttering under his breath to James Potter's ghost that he would see it returned to his precious spawn before the day was out. He slipped himself beneath it, unnoticed in the press of the crowd.

He made his way carefully through the bodies, heading out toward the grounds, entirely unsure of what he would do with himself now. He felt so utterly numb, and he knew that he was in no state to offer explanations or defense of his actions over the years. He desperately needed some quiet and solitude.

And besides, he thought, someone needed to begin cleaning up the mess outside. It would not do to allow any Death Eaters left alive but incapacitated to quietly slip off in the aftermath of the battle. Too, there might be defenders who had fallen, who'd been left injured and helpless in the chaos of the fight. Yes, a little cleanup work would be a good way to hold himself together, to burn off some of the anxiety swelling in him now, to pass the time until he felt strong enough to confront his colleagues and the Aurors… and Potter.

And so Severus Snape strode out to greet the glowing orange dawn spreading over the grounds, wand at his side and a throbbing headache starting to spread through his temples.


End file.
